


Beyond The Veil

by freddiejoey



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddiejoey/pseuds/freddiejoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the veils between our world and theirs is torn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond The Veil

Part One

It is a place of chill and shadows, even at the height of summer. The place where the chieftains of the Celts are interred. The place of burial mounds where they would have brought Arthur had he actually died as a result of Hoxel’s ferocity.

There has been no entombment here for over thirty years – not since I followed my mother Ana, sobbing in fright, stumbling in terror, behind the funeral byre of Arthur’s first father Travon. I can still remember Llud’s wooden expression, masking his sorrow and apprehension for the future. I have a single memory of Arthur’s mother, silhouetted starkly against the blazing torches that illuminated the night, as arrestingly beautiful as her son whom she held protectively against her side.

As for the rest- I have not deemed most of it worthy of retention, like so much else from that time before my life really began – the moment I first realised that the thing huddled, trembling, within the folds of Llud’s cloak was a terrified Saxon boy……..

Dealing with the practical details had at least kept my mother upright on that far off night – the torc for her chieftain’s neck, the bracelet for his right arm, the dagger, his ceremonial sword, the cauldron of mead, the bronze dishes and the drinking horns – traditionally enough to feed nine people. Beyond that she couldn’t see - as now I cannot see beyond the spectral grey mist, swirling through this fey place.

Long ago I grasped that my mother’s feelings for her chieftain went way beyond those of an obedient villager. Whatever she truly felt for my father, he was not the one to whom she surrendered her soul…..And I remember as if it were yesterday what she murmured as we stood vigil beside Travon’s body: “It is so very very cold – we cannot leave him there, in the frost and shade – but the lore says we must……”

Yet she would never approve of the way her lore is being slowly eroded in some quarters. There may be trouble ahead one day between those who cling to the old religion and the followers of the new. Arthur believes in the Christ of the One God – but he is open-minded and still respects the traditional gods as well. It is certain abbots and priests who may try and impose their crosses and chanting, their sacrifices and prohibitions, on our elders and tradition holders.

What do I believe? I am not certain and am likely never to be. I do know that when my daughter was born and I looked into her eyes, Kai’s eyes, for the first time - it was my mother who gazed back at me. Then I blinked and it was gone. But, as she grows, I see my mother again from time to time – in the tilt of her head, in the way her hands gesture back at me.

And who is to say that Kai does not somehow recognise the mark of a completely different woman in her? If I was ever to ask him, he would simply say that he remembers nothing significant from before the longhouse, that it is all hazy. Last summer though, one evening when Maeve laughed up at her father from in front of the fire, he looked at her, for a heartbeat, as if he had seen a ghost. And who is to say that he had not?

So what has brought me up here to this silent burial ground that I usually avoid except on the Feast of the Dead? Two things, perhaps random, perhaps not.

Yesterday, Luc - in the sort of temper that only an angry three-year-old can muster when he is envious of his new sister - stamped his foot at Rowena, hands on hips. Llud gave his grandson a startled glance and muttered Travon’s name (before, of course, removing Luc apologetically from his mother’s clutches, lest he be soundly smacked as he so rightly deserved.)

I read Llud’s lips and was startled in turn. It is not a name that is spoken often these days and inevitably it brought to mind my mother. And reawoke the whole matter of how much we carry forth from those who have gone before. Looking at Luc I see nothing but Arthur – not even a trace of Rowena. Yet obviously Llud saw something more that gave him pause…..

Then, this morning, I cast the runes for the baby I now carry (something I will only ever do for myself, not even for Rowena, in case of error.) I should have known better. There was a thunder storm brewing and the runes should always be flung facing the sun. They told me what I wanted to know – boy or girl? Saxon or Celt likeness? – and the fact that this will be Kai’s last child. Nothing frightening here. It promises to be a healthy child and bring joy to its father.

But afterwards, the humming in the air wouldn’t cease – even after the storm broke and the rain flooded down. Kai and Arthur threw dice to see who would squelch through the mud to fetch the vegetables from the store hut and inevitably Kai lost. Off he went, throwing up his hands laughingly – and returned a few minutes later, wet and sweet, still laughing and holding a basket of cabbages and turnips. As he pushed the longhouse door shut again with his hip, lightning splintered the sky behind him, silver-white and dazzling. For a second, over Kai’s shoulder, I saw what? An outline? An impression?

Alright, I thought I saw a Saxon warrior, tall, broader than Kai, similar to Kai and yet not Kai – a flash of flaxen hair and golden beard and sheepskin jacket. But Kai shaved this morning and he was not wearing anything fleecy – he’d wrapped himself in Arthur’s blue cloak before plunging outside into the rain.

And if I did in fact see what I think I saw, then was it Kai’s first father, the man whose blood flows too in my own children? I hadn’t time to think clearly in the moments after it happened. Kai, all blonde and glistening, was handing me the vegetables and Rowena came to murmur that she was going into the bedroom to feed the baby and Arthur and Llud were joking about something typically ridiculous that Gobnat had complained about and the children were being noisy……….I had to wait until the storm abated and come to a place where I was sure to be still and alone………

Have I come here, after the storm’s passing, to confirm that the veil between our worlds has been rent or to reassure myself that it hasn’t? Perhaps neither – perhaps simply to understand what has gradually overwhelmed me while I have been standing beside these burial mounds. That, despite the warmth refusing to penetrate here, it is merely a place of stones and remembrance. Somewhat sad, somewhat ghostly – but, in the end, not somewhere to be eternally shunned and feared. And if sometimes the intervening grey veil is lifted, whether through our children’s expressions or the lightning’s flare, then only the gods will ever be certain……

Yet somehow I hope that it was Kai’s first father that I saw watching over him – just as I hope Maeve sometimes looks through my mother’s eyes at the world. So, what would I want the Saxon warrior I may have glimpsed so briefly to know? How fulfilled his beautiful son is, how wanted and cherished. That for two people he is the sun and the moon and the stars – one is the love of his life and to the other he has been the most affectionate husband and friend. That he is the best of fathers and a wonderful son. A fierce warrior himself and the staunchest of lieutenants. And that his smile puts the sun and the moon and the stars to shame……….

“Lenni.” It is Arthur, standing at the bottom of the slope, returning from his inspection of the night sentries. He is completely well and straight again now – and contented. No trace of any vengeful Saxon’s efforts left at all - and tomorrow he and Kai are off to Dirk’s territory. Too many Saxon cattle herders encroaching on his boundaries apparently – but then Dirk has always been an inveterate whiner…..

“Come. It’s starting to get dark.” He doesn’t question what I have been doing in the place of burial mounds. One of the useful advantages of being a healer is that you are allowed certain freedoms that others might be gainsaid. Arthur begins to laugh as we walk toward the village. “Before I left, Kai had started dicing with some of the other men. We’d better get to the longhouse before he stakes the clothes on his back and loses.”

I put a hand on his arm so that we pause just inside the palisade. When he reads my enquiring fingers he laughs harder. “You want me to dice tonight and deliberately lose so Kai will think he has won for once? But Lenni, I’m not that skilful……he’ll still know……” Then Arthur grins. “Alright, I’ll do what I can……after all, it will make Kai happy – that’s the most important thing.” And I smile too as we approach the longhouse. Because he is utterly rightfully right………..

 

Part Two

When the sword clove, I simply thought “no more”. A paltry thought on which to end a life – but I meant much by it, even if the eloquence was missing. No more intensely blue summer skies, no languid afternoons on the river near my village, no more lovemaking, feasting, laughter, friendship forged in battle. Most of all no more Bret.

I had lost my wife Cate two winters ago. A hard childbirth – and she never recovered from the fever that came after. A season later, I lit a funeral pyre for Aisley, the frail girl child that she had borne. Bret and I were left to mourn together, to cling together. Now he has been left utterly alone. My stupidity, wanting him always at my side, for comfort and safety. My stupidity, bringing a small frightened boy on a raid meant only for blooded warriors. Then the darkness descends and I know no more.

The next time I see my son he is tall and slender like a young willow. Bret looks like my father – handsome as I never was, lithe, - but with his half-Frisian mother’s brown eyes. He must be fifteen or sixteen. Then I look more clearly and fear engulfs me. Skilfully, with potentially lethal precision, Bret is wielding a great Saxon axe. Have I been granted this glimpse of my son because he is shortly to join me?

His opponent is an equally slender boy, a few years younger and a head shorter – whose hair is as ebony as Bret’s is fair. A Celt. They are fighting in a meadow beside a river. The Celtic boy is armed with a sword and his dexterity with the weapon is astounding in one so young. Bret is holding his own but the contest is fast and fierce. Then the Celtic boy slices his sword in a dazzling arc and the tip grazes Bret’s arm just above the elbow. A ruby-coloured fountain spurts into the air.

“Enough!” The command is abrupt and emphatic. An older man, perhaps the age I would have been had I lived, comes striding toward them. He has one true hand and another that looks to be made of iron. “Arthur, you must be more careful and Kai, watch for that trick. It’s not the first time that he’s used it.” The Celtic boy puts an arm around Bret and pulls him close. “Sorry big brother.” Bret cuffs him good-naturedly. “I’ll be ready for you next time.” The older man frowns. “You’d best get up to the village and get that cut seen to. Don’t want it festering.” The boy called Arthur and my Bret start to walk away from the river, Bret’s arm now slung around Arthur’s shoulders. It is then that I understand. My son now has a new name, a new place to call home – and this is his family.

My son is in love – that is the first thing I am certain of. Kai – for I suppose I must call me by his Celtic name now – must be at least eighteen. Faint warm golden stubble covers his cheeks and chin. He is still slight in build, but more confident and self-assured. It is the dreamy expression that tells me what is happening however. It is the same expression that I wore when I was told that I would soon be betrothed to Cate. Marvelling, yearning, tender. I wonder if Kai really knows the state of his mind and his heart – or if it is still a sweet mystery.

There is no girl near. The only other person in the room is the boy he calls his brother – taller now and one of those men who can be called beautiful. They are laughing over something written on parchment. So my son can read. I am filled with awe. And I know something else too – Kai is happy and he is contented and loved. But the person who has captured the essence of his being remains an enigma.

Kai is riding a horse – a Saxon astride a horse! He rides as well as any sure-footed Celt. But it is his cargo that startles me – two children, one boy and one girl, both clearly Saxon. And my son too is dressed as a Saxon. So, a Saxon, disguised as a Celt, disguised as a Saxon. Enough to make one’s head throb. No wonder if it sometimes makes my son’s innards throb.

Kai is scowling as they amble along, but the children look relaxed enough. They feel safe. And I don’t think that it is them that perplex my son – something else lies behind the troubled expression in those brown eyes. What troubles him is business concerning the heart.

As I watch, the little girl says something in a lilting voice and Kai bites on his lip to stop grinning. He is good with children then. Not like me – I was so often awkward, even when my son was small. It was his mother who was naturally gentle, who showered him with kisses and tickled him until he squealed with unbearable delight.. .… The boy presses his face trustingly against Kai’s back and falls asleep. Then the black horse rounds a bend in the rough track and is lost to sight.

I can feel Kai’s rage – vociferous and torrid, thrumming in the room. He swings his axe in a massive curve and smashes it down, splintering a stool that his opponent – a slight terrified youth of about seventeen – is cowering beneath. Then suddenly the battle is over and the two of them are sitting talking quietly on a bench, Kai’s arm slung comfortingly around the still trembling young man. “Lessons learnt the hard way are often the most enduring Corin” I hear him say quietly before the mist comes down again and all at once, it is evening and Kai is walking with his brother beside the river.

The water gleams with silver luminance. It is very still. Arthur turns to my son and smiles. “So did you mean it?” Kai pretends to not know what his brother is referring to. “Mean what?” Gently, Arthur pushes him. “That you wouldn’t seek vengeance if I was…” All at once, Kai stops Arthur’s mouth with a determined hand and pulls him close so that they stand entwined at the edge of the lapping water. “No little brother, never mention it, not even in jest. I would not last a day without you.”

Tenderly Arthur runs his fingers down my son’s cheek and I see Kai shiver. I never had a brother who lasted beyond early boyhood. I do not understand such a bond, cast in love as well as battle. It is one of which I am fiercely envious. They turn and walk slowly back toward the village in the warm night, Kai’s arm encircling Arthur’s waist, dark head leaning against fair.

My son is in despair. He is struggling in the cold lake, among the lilies, fighting for his life, fighting to assuage his shame and guilt with a death. At last the water is still; Kai has made his offering to the gods of reparation. He is a sodden and desolate sight as his brother helps him out with a firm comforting hand. Arthur would give him further consolation – but Kai is not yet ready. He walks away, stiff with misery.

I wish I was there to tell him that this will all pass. That what seems insurmountable now will some day just be husks on the wind. One thing only gives me cause for hope – whoever she was, she is not the one who first took possession of my son’s heart. She has been merely a divergence, a lapse. If it had been not been so, if the other had inflicted such betrayals, then the lilies would now be rippling softly, ceaselessly, above my son’s head.

It is summer. Kai sits alone in the longhouse. He is slightly drunk, but not pleasantly so. He is skittish and tense. As I watch, he throws his cup into a corner so that mead spills all over the rushes in a sweet sticky crescent. I sense that this gall is something Kai must keep shrouded. It is not for open display. He sighs and paces over to retrieve the wooden cup. Then fills it again from a jug standing nearby on a low table. Kai is determined to soon be utterly drenched as we Saxons would say.

The longhouse door opens and in strides, Llud the silverhanded, Kai’s father now. He looks very pleased with himself. Seemingly casual, Kai questions him about a certain marriage and is told jovially “no marriage.” I realise that this somehow concerns Arthur and realise something else – my son is unsure whether he is flooded with anguish or relief or an intoxicating jumble of both. Laughing, Kai raises his cup and he and Llud toast each other. Only I see the astute narrowing of Llud’s wily old eyes but I cannot discern the cause.

Then I am gone a long time.......Suddenly I am spiralling but it is not daunting. It is pleasureable, peaceful, and utterly safe. There is no sound, just a semblance of calmness and tranquility. My son is so near, his spirit brushing mine, burnished wings sweeping the stars........Then I hear his brother's voice, whispering, “No, my Kai, you must stay with me.........without you..........stay...........stay........” There is a roar.........a tearing asunder....... and I fall headlong.......

Kai has a family of his loins. The wonder of it......In the longhouse it is the time for the evening meal. Sitting with Llud are two blonde boys so like Kai when he was still my Bret that it would make me catch my breath – had I still breath to catch. There is a pair of little dark- headed Celts – no doubting who has sired them. And in front of the fire, a girl-child with a nimbus of flaxen hair. She turns and laughs up at her father, at Kai – and in that moment she is Cate, all her joy and beauty. Kai looks startled and then, the fleeting recognition passes.

So now finally I will know where my son's heart has been bestowed. Is it the bright-eyed one with the cropped hair? But no. His brother Arthur raises an enquiring eyebrow at her, smiling and she might as well be melting into a puddle among the rushes. The other one then – clearly a Celt, black hair, not beautiful, but clever I think, and gazing at Kai in adoration as he bends to say something close to her ear. Yet.........no again. There is affection in his brown eyes and love of a kind – still, it is not the love that consumes and sears.............the love that kept him afloat among the lilies................

It is raining in torrents. Kai is splashing through the mud, draped in a blue cloak, a basket of greenery under one arm. He reaches the longhouse doors, pushing them half open. In that moment the lightning dazzles, like pale luminous milk – and the shroud raptures..............

My son and his brother are riding. Darkness is falling and they stop in the woods to rest. Kai lights a fire and readies the meat while Arthur tends the horses and prepares a pile of sheepskins for the night. They drink mead and eat, laughing about someone called Dirk who they are travelling to see – something about his fussing and grousing.

Playfully Arthur buffets Kai as they lie beside the flames. Then my son catches Arthur's hand in his own and presses it fervently against his mouth. They grin at each other in the firelight – joyous, glowing, climbing on rainbows. And I am flooded by solace and understanding because finally I know...........


End file.
